HallucinGen
by Prism Bunny90
Summary: John Hancock and the Sole Survivor's lives change when an intruder enters one of their campouts. With one last word, will their heroism and curiosity end in disaster?


**Warning** : This will be a dark one with descriptions of violence, and eventually hardcore sex in the future. I hope you all can stomach it!

I wrote this fanfic a year ago and just now finished the first chapter. I didn't think I would ever do it, but with my friends, I had the motivation to go at it again.

The copy of the fanfiction will be edited on and the sex scenes will be linked to Thanks for understanding that I do not want this fic deleted. :)

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 **Chapter One  
** Reality Trip

The breeze whirled northwest within the tangled maze of crumbled buildings. On the Pip-Boy, its map marked an established settlement called Hangman's Alley. The name itself read nowhere near pleasant, but it was the closest reachable rest stop in The Fens. And the travels between Beacon Hill and the Financial District days prior. The fetched items and the spitting bullets of each creature and enemy that ranged from towering green mutants to drug addicted raiders. And the generalized, all time-consuming predicaments and rescues of the neediest people caused chronic exhaustion. The bloodshed and tasks felt grueling; and not just for the identifiable Sole Survivor, but also for her friend — John McDonough Hancock. The Mayor of Goodneighbor.

"Evelyn?" his gruff tone breathed beside her.

The companion kept her frame knelt in a crouched stance and directed a swift nod of recognition. They approached the entrance in a slow pace and treaded each step with little sound. Their pupils searched around the guarded posts any violent survivalists or scavvers but came up with nothing. That was odd. She never ventured out to this post-war territory. And various locals warned about the chances of hostile inhabitants residing in the district. On the opposite hand, Hancock was rather well experienced with the slums. He executed on the impulsive, self-assured action to stand upright and kick a nearby rusted can. Not one panicked noise erupted when metal met concrete and echoed. He gained a wholly deserved glare from the vault dweller. He lifted his head to meet the evening sky and snorted. The air smelled of rotten flesh, and it left a metallic aftertaste. Even the afternoon rainstorm failed to dilute it.

"God. What is that stench?" her nose crinkled.

Despite after three months on the outside, free from her cryogenic coffin, Evelyn failed to recognize the foul odors of death. Hancock noted that one would state her innocence was charming and endearing in an anomic way. He did not answer back but watched her enter beyond the accessible entryway. Even the technical defenses, like the built automatic turret systems, were offline for an unknown reason. Either they just struck gold or shit would be hitting a desk fan. His stomach twisted with dread of an underhanded ambush. Onyx eyes fixated on dancing whipped shadows.

Minutes passed in silence. He heard a sudden and sharp whistle. Her personal signal for two situations: be readied to shift adjacent to her for another killing spree or be prepared to recess and haul out. He presumed the latter and sling carried his double barrel. Hancock ambled over and eased Evelyn on her heels again. She dusted off any debris from her ragged flannel shirt and jeans. Her arms reached up, and her neck and spine cracked. The atmosphere lightened with her audible moan.

"Not an asshole in sight," the young wanderer graced a genuine, cocky smile. She ejected the magazine from her ten-millimeter automatic pistol and reloaded it with more cartridges. Hancock respected her swiftness for her favorite gun.

"Ahh," he huffed, and dropped his military knapsack and slanted the weapon over it, "Do ya think we should head back?"

"To where Hancock?" she spat into her unwashed palm and smeared crusted grime away from her purplish blue-stained jaw.

He frowned at the welt and contemplated caressing the angered spot. She somehow dodged any permanent damage such as a broken nose and tooth loss when that random psycho-buff induced female smashed that fair doll face right in the kisser with a Diamond City swatter shop bat. Hancock could not suppress his vengeful nature as his trusted combat knife pierced underneath the attacker's breastbone in several quick thrusts; puncturing her left lung before sliding out and slit across her neck. And he could not forget those the last unintelligible gurgled noises as fluids suffocated her airway. Or the fact that the blood slipped off the steel and onto the hard ground below in drip-dripping patterns. He derived some relief and pleasure when the body's limbs flailed like a marionette without its strings just before it succumbed to death.

' _Damn, I got her all choked up_ ', he amused.

He continued to stare at Evelyn and remembered her expression morphing from fear and agony to confusion and disgust. Tears formed and pricked the corners of those soft olive eyes, and he wiped the blade with a saturated handkerchief. Hancock had speculated the worst and tensed at the idea of her resignation from their arrangement as he had repeated history. He reached underneath the crimson frock coat to holster it in when a presence warmed around him, and a floral scent of perfume arose. An embrace. He had let out a small gasp from the sweetness mixed with a natural earthy undertone.

Hancock reflected on how his shakiness subsided when she whispered below his chin. She thanked him. She gave gratitude to the deteriorated ghoul. That type of kindness was a rare occurrence ever since his transformation. Hancock rubbed the divots and the general rough surface of his skin. He loved the memory of those messy locks that he lowered into as he held her closer. They stayed that way for a mere moment, but he had judged himself for the secret desire for more. Hancock steadied his fumbled footing and straightened his tricorn when she had pulled away and double checked her wrist gadget. They packed up their belongings and headed southeast. The dead abandoned to the animals.

Hancock pledged his unspoken loyalty and protection to the Sole Survivor then. He vowed to buy the next round of Stimpacks, plentiful Med-X, and a proper check up with a decent health provider. And he never broke promises. But that swollen bruise still needed a week or so to heal.

"–Hancock?" she peered at him, and had furrowed eyebrows and bit her plush bottom lip. She cocked her face to the side and folded her arms.

"Why should we leave?" her tone more forward.

He quietly cursed at her expression and inspected the street. He shrugged and slacked on the inner wall's splintered wood. A scarred and tissue exposed hand patted on the small cigarette package inside his right chest pocket. The same pocket he kept the Mentats. He exhibited instant relief at the knowledge they had not fallen out. Protected by cupped callused fingers, a gold-plated lighter lit a dampened, crumpled cig. The smoke exhaled thick misty cloud through his exposed middle nasal concha.

"Well," he muttered and extended out the single syllable.

Hancock popped and rolled his favorite chem toward the roof of his mouth and tongue. He needed the obligatory pick-me-up. Hancock anticipated the high certainty of a body count and grimaced. He hated cleaning after spilled blood.

"We don't want ferals comin' in after us."

Evelyn fingered combed chocolate auburn strands and pried hairs from her sweat dripped nape, and used a rubber band to ponytail it. She had concerned herself with the low numbers of crucial medical supplies throughout their wasteland journeys but stated how thankful she felt for their luck nevertheless. All undesirable required meats stockpiled as meals for the at most three days, which included mutant hound and bloatfly. Hancock busied himself too. He hunted and gathered copious amounts of Whiskey, anti-freeze, hubflowers, and tarberries. There was enough to supply a few tins worth of berry and grape flavored Mentats. No one could ever say that he was not resourceful.

He sucked the last remnants of the blue pill, "They're known to get wild at night."

"Oh?" Evelyn dug her hiking shoes into the sand after she sat on a smooth rock. "Is that what you're so worried about?"

Sure, if that hindered any awkwardness between them, "Yeah."

"Then we'll seal the gate after dinner."

He nodded, but in truth, he wanted to sleep in a comfortable bed somewhere marked on their map as safe instead of being guarded with one eye open and a weapon under his makeshift pillow. He began to grab their supplies and brought each essential stuffed food carriers over to the cooking station. He tipped his hat aback and dug through the first pack and found the paper covered slabs he would rather eat for tonight. — One-half dog the other half radiation. All 100 percent FEV approved.

Any real sensible ghoul could admit that the radiation levels were too damn high. And the Sole Survivor deserved better. The young woman supported bags under her eyes and yawned in multiples thanks to the trekking and forging, so it was up to him to roast the picked out choice. So what if he never had the first-hand experience in the art of prepared meals? He knew how to, at least, scorch anything with enough firepower. He clicked the cookware tongs together. Now he tried to figure out how to place the grill bars on the open flames without burning himself.

"Hey, Eve-," he flinched when, without warning, she was inches away from him. She broadened her grin.

Evelyn pointed at the food and slouched with her arm around his shoulder, "Oh, Hancock. You're just a hound dog that ain't ever caught a rabbit."

"But... Wait, what?" he raised an eyebrow, and she patted in the middle of his shoulder blades, in stitches. Did she tap into the stash already?

He dawned on him in an instant at the realization it was another pre-war reference.

Hancock chuckled, brushed his mouth against her ear. He was barely audible.

"This hound wants ya dressed up in an apron and nothin' else, ya dig?"

"I'll still grill, baby." he touched her hair. "Give it a chance, hm?"

He continued to laugh as she reddened all over but then jumped when she a landed half-serious punch to his right arm.

"Ow!" he grasped and rubbed his arm, "What? You can kiss the cook afterward!"

A hissed escaped him, "Goddamnit, that's gonna sting for a while."

"Good."

"It's a joke!"

"To, ya know, accommodate the delicious cuisine?" he waggled non-existent eyebrows, and another smack landed on his shoulder. That mark would sting for another fifteen minutes. Enough time to cook their grub. He scooted himself closer to the fire pit.

The meat steamed on the pan. He stirred it around and added seasoned spices as it browned. Evelyn used a large spoon to hack and smash the fruits, purified water and sprinkled sugar into the pot; creating a poor man's desert.

"I'd kill for a molerat chunk," he suggested.

He eyed Evelyn, "Did ya know they make for awful cuddlers?"

"You didn't." she gasped, "... did you?"

"I have a nice scar to prove it." he gazed as her horrified expression changed along with her tune of laughter, and he gnashed into the toughened steak on his makeshift cardboard plate.

"You should show me it some day."

As supper came to a close, Evelyn pressed her hands against the flames and Hancock tossed the leftovers into the pit. The next task was to search for any chance corpses that could attract the wild or worse. He had a hunch he would find something behind those blue sheets at the far end. They both straightened up from the small boulders and almost bumped into one another.

"Ladies, first." he smirked, "You should see about them turrets, doll."

She nodded and headed off. And so did he.

Well damn; he was correct. Male carcasses piled together with their upper limbs detached where they laid a couple of feet away. They were putrid and filled with crawling fist-sized maggots. He unsashed his American flag and created a bandana around his profile. He stripped their clothing with his knife for material use and revealed bottle caps, psycho, and duct tape. He halted further rummaging once he spotted bitten and ripped muscle on unprotected shoulders and necks. They were unidentifiable to any animal he ever observed, and the alignments were near perfect. Not like feral ghoul chompers. Hancock gawked at the wounds then shook his head.

Whatever the Hell it could be, he still knew to complete the task to throw out the remains. He dragged them across the camping grounds and chucked an adolescent male, who had their lower intestines minced, out beyond the settlement. He began to sweat at the attempt to heave the heavier, muscle-bound older male and gave up. The sole of his boot shoved until it tumbled far from the main entrance. He discarded the limbs over the barrier and clenched some dry soil to dust his hands off. He wiped his brow and waved for an all clear when she peeked from the bigger shack.

Evelyn found a terminal to reprogram the weaponry as he reached up to the top bedroom. He was glad he partnered with someone that had those talented hacking skills. When she finished, she plopped down on a large size bed and shuffled out her yellow sleeping bag.

"What's the password this time?" he inquired.

"Playful."

"Sounds about right."

"Ugh, I need a hit of Med-X." she groaned.

He smiled. Evelyn sounded more like him every day.

"Here, let me help you out, sister."

The older man propped the Sole Survivor up against the bed's metal frame and rustled out a leather belt and wrapped it around her bicep. He looped the end of the belt and yanked on it hard as hidden veins appeared. He rubbed her inner elbow with two fingers and tapped a plump visible one.

"Know that, hm... Look. I'll always have your back."

Guilt crept through his spine but dulled as she whimpered and pressed her forehead into his arm when the needle stabbed into soft skin. Hancock admitted he changed her in several ways, but was she an innocent suburbanite before the bombs destroyed their hometown? No, of course not. For one, she kept secrets here and there from Nate such as her functional addiction to Mentats, for that extra boost to shift through the workload that landed her graduation from law school. And she mentioned, through their drunken late nights, that sometimes Evelyn slipped in a wine and bourbon that she stashed in the two safes at the office she interned southeast from Faneuil Hall.

"T-Thank you, Hancock," she whispered and fumbled with the zipper. He held her wrist and tucked it back into the cocoon. He zipped her up and blew out the lantern. He picked up the inhaler and double tapped it in his mouth.

Aside from the recreational use of substances, she had not shared her personal opinions and the harsh truths about society and its falsehood appearance of idealism with her husband. Hancock never judged Evelyn for her personal rhetoric on having Shaun or the fact she had the child to satisfy Nate. But there were no doubts she loved the baby with her soul. He never judged the young lawyer for preaching to the choir of strangers about birthing a new generation in a chaotic environment. In his opinion, she was smart enough to comprehend that gamble. And he lacked her optimistic approach to the subject as well. Something he retained when he read a pre-owned Publick Occurrences newspaper in his town.

"Don't worry that pretty little head." he murmured and stroked her forehead. Her soft, light snoring played in a soothing rhythm. He knew some time had passed because the Jet's half-life wore off. He sat up, stretched, and headed for the doorway.

She shared stories with him, and he returned the favor. Two Bostonians in the middle of the apocalypse. He hid all her sins in those campfire flames and would not dare to gossip when others asked about her past. And in a silent pack, she understood to keep his own buried, though as of recent he had opened up more.

"G'Night." he shuffled around with his belongings until he approached a large mattress in an another shack across and below from hers.

In grim dismay, the bed had seen better days. The soft felt ragged material had holes and large tears scratched on its fabric's surface. And to top it off, the thing contained grunge, caked on puke, drink, and urine. He sat on the ground and untied each colonial boot. The sensitive stinging ran through his big toe and made him tearing the right one off. In the dark, he inspected the sweaty and soaked sock that dipped in a mixture dried and fresh blood. Hancock gagged at the odor. He cursed and tossed both shoes at the corner of the room. When he pulled off the clothing, every digit wiggled while his lower half joined in on cracking every joint.

He undid his trousers and settled in the bed. The night was warmer than usual, and he benefited from consistently going commando. Beyond the wooden posts, the darkness and its shimmering stars began to engulf the sky's evening hues. A perfect moment that he stretched out longer by snatching the Jet inhaler and sucking in four puffs. He moaned when the drug hit the right spot, and the sudden vibrations of the wind gave him goosebumps. Stringed and hazy images flashed in this inebriated state, and each one was of his female companion. The enjoyment of the show made Hancock massage his lower abdomen and a sharp sensation throbbed further down. He grunted, and thumbed at the base and hummed when the muscle pulsated.

He overheard creaking from Evelyn's quarters and knew he could not release tension with the paranoid idea of her finding out. Despite if she slept while doped up. The wooden walls outside of her room gave a little sense of privacy.

"… Shit." Hancock sighed and let go of his himself. He knew to wait a few days, but he worried he might become cuckoo without it.

His conscious battled back and forth, but in the end, drowsiness won. He exhaled and propped the tricorn over his features and laced fingers on his chest. Some shut-eye would be good for him. And each little detail of the female form eased him into a slumber.

And he woke to screams from above. Hancock rubbed his eyelids and wiped crust off of his mouth. He inclined forwards in bed and sifted through his belongings. Maybe the young lady found a radroach, and needed some urgent help. He had one limb tied up in his shoe before he heard the second regurgitated scream. The rhythm in his heart skipped. He snatched the shotgun from underneath the sack pillow. Uneven lurched steps rushed upstairs. The Sole Survivor tried to gain balance at the end of the bed as a muscle built womanish raider heaved their upper body with each breath. She gargled another shriek. Both hands held something deadly. Hancock calculated, and in one swift motion he locked his arm around the intruder's neck, and he threw her into a wall. With a thud, a shank dropped.

She turned around and chucked Hancock off of her. In an instant, he landed sideways on the floor. He winced and watched for her eyes. They were an intense red and brimmed with discharge. Was she jacked up on a super Buffout or what?

"She's not rabid!" she yelled and pushed the female off of her.

Evelyn reached out and helped him up. He upper-cut the intruder and knocked the pipe pistol out of reach. He huffed and shoved his shoulder into her stomach, propelling her on her back. Slow at first, she rolled over but regained sight somehow as she crawled fast towards Evelyn; gripping the hems of her pants and clawed marks into her legs. Hancock's modified steel toed kicked her in the stomach, and she bounced her chin on the wood floor. The superficial cuts bled out of her nose and lips as she howled and growled. Before she could go on all fours again, he slammed his heel down on her throat.

"Goddamnit, she's somethin'!" he hunched over and laid the front of his shotgun on her temple.

"P-Please!" she spat out frothy foam, "… PLEASE!"

She escaped his footing, and she bit a chunk out of his lower calf with her smeared-ivory, unwashed teeth. Sent into a fury rage, he slammed hard twice on her scruff, clogging up her air. He clenched his double-barrel, finger fixed on the trigger and shoved it back down.

"Say your last prayer." he heard a soft whisper.

"HalluciGen."

Two shots reverberated throughout the street.

Hancock slacked, letting his head draped back for a minute. He dropped everything and let out a groan. Then his pupils dilated; he hastened just as Evelyn bent over and he clasped her elbow tight.

"Hey!" he noticed small lacerations on her forearms, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah... She punched me in the gut, is all." she stabilized herself for a moment while he dug out bandages and wrapped them around her and used strong tape to keep it in place.

They were lucky and kept their Stimpaks for another day.

She coughed, "W-We need to head back to..."

"Goodneighbor." they said in unison, and both took in each other's expressions.

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Did you enjoy the ride so far? Then hit me up with comments/reviews and kudos!


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